Strange Places
by ClaudiaRain
Summary: It sneaks up on you, usually when you aren't looking. Dash/Ingrid
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I own nothing! I don't know what else to say except that, for some reason, I liked these two together in season 1. I think they exchanged, oh, about 3 words for the entire season? So imagine my amazement when they started spending time together in season 2. I was inspired to write about them, though I'm sure everything here will get thrown out pretty quickly as the season progresses. So enjoy it for what it is!**

**Spoilers through 2x04.**

**XXXXXX**

It took her a moment to process who was on the other side of her door. "Dash. What are you doing here?"

He didn't need to explain – the reason was written on his face. She hadn't wanted to see anyone. At least she thought she hadn't until he showed up at her door. She stepped back automatically, years of good habits ingrained in her as he entered her apartment, and she shut the door behind him. "Do you want a drink?"

He shook his head. "I thought you'd be with your family? But I was driving home and saw your car parked outside."

"My apartment is not on your way home from work, or the bar, or anywhere. I'm in the middle of nowhere, Dash."

"You got me," he held out his hands. "I won't apologize."

She blinked in surprise. "I wouldn't want you to." She moved to the living room and sat on the couch. Instead of choosing one of the chairs, he sat next to her. Not too close, but not too far, either. She tried to smile at him, and didn't think she succeeded. "I was at home, with them, but after a while…"

"Too much?"

She nodded. "I love them, to the ends of the earth. I just couldn't stay there any longer. I wanted to be alone."

He suddenly felt uncomfortable, abruptly aware that he was intruding upon her personal time of grief. "I'm sorry, I know exactly what you mean about wanting to be alone. After my mother died, sometimes I would sit alone in my house and…" he trailed off, inwardly berating himself. He had no right to try and turn her pain into a sad story about himself.

Ingrid didn't notice his discomfort. "I understand that," she nodded. "They were sitting around, talking about him, trading stories, and it was good, you know? Healthy. But I could only contribute so much, and after another story that I couldn't remember – may as well have never experienced – I had to leave. If I stayed there another minute longer, I was going to…I don't know."

Dash did know. "I didn't mean to bother you, I only wanted to see if you were okay. If there was anything I could do." He started to stand, but she put a hand on his arm to keep him in place.

"No," she took a deep breath, as if she were coming to a decision within herself. "I would like it if you stayed."

He acquiesced, remaining next to her on the couch. Silence fell for a minute and tears pricked at her eyes. The only sounds in the room were the two of them quietly breathing, and sometimes she couldn't even hear that. "He wasn't there," the words tore out of her without her meaning to say them.

"Your father?"

She nodded. "He wasn't there for most of my life, and I thought it was by his choice, but it turns out it wasn't. I hated him for _so long_ and what a horrible thing for a daughter – to hate her father for leaving her when he'd never really left her at all. He didn't deserve that, those years of…" she rubbed a hand over her eyes, wishing she could wipe away her years of betrayal as easily as tears.

"You didn't know," he said quietly. "I've felt the same in my life, blamed people for things that were out of their control. There's no point in hating ourselves after the fact. You have to deal with it and forgive yourself and move on."

"I can't," she was shaking her head, "because my father's gone now." She very carefully didn't look at him. She had this strange feeling that if she let herself look at him she might fall completely apart. He reached over and took hold of her hand.

Dash had no idea how to comfort her, only felt a deep sense that he had to do the best he could. "I know he is."

"It's silly."

"What?"

"Feeling this…this sad, for a man I barely knew." She and Dash had spoken briefly in the past about her screwed up family dynamics. They actually had a running bet on whose family was more messed up (they currently saw themselves as tied).

"He was your father, Ingrid. No matter what. That counts."

She couldn't accept that. "But I didn't know him, Dash. I can't possibly have loved him the way my mother did, or my brother. Even my aunt Wendy knew him much better than me, and she disliked him a lot of that time, and she has more of a right to grieve than I do. I knew him for a few minutes in comparison to their lifetimes together." She gripped his hand tighter, trying as hard as she could to stop herself from crying. "You can't feel this way about someone you never really had a chance to know. It's wrong for me to –"

"No," he interrupted her, gently. "It's not."

She finally looked over at him, and saw the echo of grief in his eyes. He'd been there; he knew. "No," she agreed, biting her lip, "it's not."

She hadn't needed to be convinced, really; just reminded that she wasn't alone.

And when she actually did start to cry, he didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. He just pulled her closer and held her for a long time.

**XXXXXX**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I forgot to mention, maybe a half dozen chapters, nothing too crazy. The chapters are connected, just a series of successive scenes in their lives.**

**XXXXXX**

Ingrid winced as Dash prodded at her hand, removing another piece of glass. He'd used anesthetic, so she knew it was more the process of watching that was making her jerk instinctively.

"Please look away," he instructed, after she wrenched her hand away for a third time.

"Yes, doctor," she said sullenly, staring up at the ceiling. She had to begrudgingly admit that it did help.

"I don't understand how it went this deep if you just broke a glass. It's like you fell on it." He paused. "Was this something magical that went wrong?"

She shook her head. "No, you're right, I fell on it. I may have been slightly drunk." She emphasized _slightly_. "I dropped my glass and when I reached over to pick it up, I lost my balance and my hand went right down on some of the pieces."

She gave up on the ceiling and made sure she was keeping her gaze resolutely on Dash, not on her hand. It was fascinating to watch him work, the single-minded focus he had on fixing his patients. Not much different from the type of focus needed to perform spells successfully, come to think of it.

"Slightly? Ingrid, you almost fell twice on your way in, and then you _did_ fall – onto me."

"I was just giving you a hug because I was happy to see you," she said, kicking her feet back and forth as she sat on the edge of the exam table.

She caught the smile he was trying to hide. "You're still drunk."

"Yeah, probably. It's nice."

"Your hand doesn't think so," he scolded. He'd finished cleaning out the glass and started on the stitches. Ingrid found this easier to bear than watching him poke around for shards of glass, and she watched with interest as he carefully stitched her hand. He noticed her watching. "This is fine with you, me sewing up your hand like embroidery. But taking out a piece of glass is too much."

She nodded. "It's different. See," she automatically tried to move her hands to gesture, as she normally would when talking to someone, and stopped when he wouldn't let her hand go. This also caused her train of thought to completely derail.

"See what?"

"I don't know."

"Okay." He finished stitching her hand and wrapped a bandage around it, then moved his chair back a little. "Why didn't you fix it at the bar?" He meant, of course, why hadn't she used magic?

"There were lots of witnesses, and a lot of blood," she said. Freya and Frederick hadn't been there. She'd been drinking alone. Well, as alone as you could get in a crowded bar. "Besides," she waved her hands up and down her person, "as I said, I was drinking, kind of heavily. Magic and alcohol aren't that great of a mix. The bartender called a cab and it was either go see my mother or come here."

"And you chose to be subjected to stitches instead of an easy magical fix."

"Magic isn't always that easy. There are costs," she informed him, as if he didn't already know that. "Besides, I might have been bleeding a lot in the backseat and the driver took me here despite what I asked him to do. It was a great excuse to see you, though."

"You never need an excuse to see me," he pointed out.

She remembered something else. "I may not have had any way of paying and told the cab driver you'd pay. He also might still be waiting outside the hospital."

"You _may_ not have had money? He _might_ still be waiting outside?"

"Alright, he's out there, okay? I forgot!"

"Hmm, memory issues. You do remember you _own_ name, don't you?" He waited a moment, feigning worry. "Isabelle?"

"You're so funny," she hit him on the shoulder with her injured hand and then hissed in pain. Anesthetics could only do so much.

He wanted to tell her he had no sympathy, but it would have been a lie. Truth be told, he found drunk Ingrid adorable (_slightly _drunk, her voice sounded in his head). "Maybe don't hit me with your injured hand?" He reached up and brushed some hair off her forehead in an attempt to distract her.

She reached up to take hold of his hand. "Sorry, yours was the first name that came to mind. I'll pay you back." She sounded increasingly distraught, as the magnitude of her indiscretion took on ten times its weight in her somewhat inebriated mind.

He sighed theatrically. "No need, Ingrid, I'll pay your cab fare. And while we're at it, why don't I pay your medical bill for tonight, too?"

"Would you?" She completely missed his sarcasm. Actually, was it sarcasm if he intended to follow through? It was more like he'd never charge her for this visit to begin with. "That's sweet of you, Dash." She grinned at him, and her eyes were bright not only from the alcohol, but from an innate, genuine happiness.

He stood up, taking off his gloves, and wondered about the last time he'd been genuinely happy. A month or two ago he would have sworn it was when he was with Freya, and now…he couldn't help but look over at the woman on the exam table and think about how happy he was when he spent time with her.

"I'd kick you out of here if I thought you could make it down the hallway in one piece," he said, and couldn't stop from grinning back at her. "With my luck, you'd end up deciding to sleep it off here and fall into bed with some poor old guy. You'd make his night, I'm sure."

"I'm always up for hearing I'm the most excitement a guy's had in years," she smirked and gave him a thumbs up, though the effort caused her to tilt dangerously and nearly fall off the table.

He was at her side in a second and helped her down. She swayed from side to side before seeming to find solid ground. "I'll go find your cab and then drive you home," he said, "as I now feel it's my responsibility. My shift was ending anyways." He walked with her out of the room, though when he paused to take off his coat, she moved ahead of him and tipped slightly to the left.

"This hallway's crooked," she said. "You guys should fix that, someone could get hurt."

"Uh huh," he stepped up to her left side and took her arm. "I'll get maintenance on it. One hallway realignment coming up."

She was too busy studying her bandaged hand to reply to him.

"I did what I could, but it will leave a scar."

In her mind, Ingrid replayed how it felt to watch him work. It had been a long time since someone had...taken that much care with her.

Dash shook his head, as if remembering who he was talking to. "You can get rid of it, I'm sure."

She smiled at him. "Why would I want to do that?"

**XXXXXX**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I am so happy to see other people are enjoying this, it keeps me going! :)**

**XXXXXX**

Killian took one look at the rapidly swirling furniture and ducked out of the room at the same time as Ingrid and Dash hit the floor.

It caught her off-guard, but Ingrid managed to stop the whirlwind. Unfortunately, she wasn't in time to save most of the furniture; the pieces that hadn't been destroyed by slamming into each other in mid-air were definitely damaged by falling to the floor.

"You guys alright?" Killian's voice came from somewhere out in the hallway.

"Yeah, thanks for helping us and not running away to save yourself," Dash yelled back. "Oh wait."

Killian leaned around the doorway. "I could tell you had it handled."

"Could you?" Ingrid asked, as she slowly sat up. "Was it by the way we both threw ourselves to the floor?"

"Your reflexes are superb," Killian said, without a hint of sarcasm. He turned to his brother. "Hey, remember that thing I told you I had to do later?"

"What thing?" Dash asked.

Killian ignored him. "I'm going to be late, I'm sure you guys can handle this. Ingrid's a professional." He shot her a charming smile and left.

"Guess he's done for the day," Ingrid said.

"I bet there is no thing," Dash said cynically. He got to his feet and held out a hand to Ingrid.

"You're a regular detective," she huffed as she let him pull her up. She had no idea what to do next.

Dash apparently thought criticism was the way to go. "Your lessons leave a lot to be desired, you know that?" He surveyed the wreckage of the room – now filled with broken wood that had once been chairs and tables – and shook his head.

"How is this my fault?" She demanded, picking some wood splinters out of her hair, and indicating that he had to do the same. "My lessons are fine, it's the students who can't follow simple instructions."

"You're responsible for our safety," he argued. "We're still learning."

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the book they'd been studying earlier. She slammed it shut and then winced at the sound. She whispered a soft apology to it – she shouldn't be taking her anger out on defenseless objects.

She glanced up in time to find Dash studying her. "I'm sure the book accepts your apology," he said. "I'm still waiting for mine."

His flippancy was somewhat annoying. "It's about intent, we went over this. You were doing fine until you became distracted or…I don't know, you tell me what was going through your mind. You have to keep your focus."

"I thought I was," he argued. They'd been working on different methods of levitation. The first part had worked fine until a minor tornado decided to tear through the room. Ingrid tried her best to explain things, but despite her voracious reading, even she wasn't an expert.

"Meditation might help to clear your mind and focus. I'll try to come up with other methods, too. We have an entire section in the library on self-improvement…" Her eyes got that faraway look that meant he was losing her.

"Good luck finding a book to improve me," he deadpanned, which got her to laugh and stopped a tangent that would have distracted her for at least fifteen minutes. "We learn from our mistakes, right?"

"I don't think it was a mistake as much as it was inexperience," she corrected.

Dash kicked aside a broken chair leg. To think this had happened because his mind had drifted for a moment. One moment! Who knew magic would be so much like medicine? One minor thing done wrong and you had a disaster. Or someone died.

He picked up what had once been part of a small end table and wondered what it had been worth. Probably a lot. "Well?"

"Well?" Ingrid crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to help me clean up?"

"It's your mess," she said.

"Created under your 'supervision' which means you're at least partially responsible," he informed her. "I'll send you the bill to replace my family's antiques, shouldn't be more than ten thousand or so."

"You're a lawyer now, too? I'm not paying for you to redecorate your house," Ingrid said firmly, but took pity on him as he kept turning in circles, obviously having no clue where to start on the mess. She breathed a few words and waved an arm. The pieces of wood and upholstery vanished, leaving them in a mostly empty room.

Dash eyed her suspiciously. "Where did it go? Another realm?"

She laughed. "It's outside on the lawn, I saved you a few trips. Now you only have to find someone to haul it away. You're welcome," she started stacking the books she'd brought over that she didn't want to leave. Thankfully, because he'd only been levitating furniture, the books had been spared.

"I thought you would fix everything."

"You did? Huh," she smiled sweetly, "sorry to disappoint, but I can't do everything for you. That can be your next homework assignment if you really want, though it'd be a lot easier and less time consuming to buy new furniture." She glanced at the clock. "I have to get to work."

"The library will remain just as empty with you as without you," he said, trying to get her to stay.

"People go to the library," she insisted.

"People?" He was skeptical.

She bristled. "There have been, on occasion, as many as two, perhaps even three people there at a time."

He didn't feel like debating the usefulness (or lack thereof) of their library. He just wanted her to stay. Or at the very least, to promise when she'd be back. "I need you to teach me how to do what you just did. That looked useful, I could use it to clean up when I don't feel like moving."

"Ah, magic, the crutch of the perpetually lazy."

He didn't see how she could fault him for wanting to use a spell she had _actually_ used. "Does that make you lazy? I didn't see you dragging pieces of broken furniture outside."

She had no real defense for that. "I'm the teacher, I can do what I want."

He let her lack of argument go because it was more fun needling her. "And you _want_ to help me, we both know it."

He was right, but she couldn't get fired over it. Where else would she find a job that quickly around here? She had to pay to live by herself now. With her luck the only job opening would be as Dash's personal magic teacher. Though if she could finagle free room and board out of it – no, she stopped the ridiculous train of thought. It _would_ look interesting on a resume, though. "Fine," she said, as if he were forcing her hand, "your homework for tonight is to take responsibility, okay?"

"You already told me to learn how to fix furniture," he protested. "Now I'm supposed to accept responsibility, too? Not fair."

"Too much?"

"I don't have endless free time," he reminded her. "I have a job."

"Yet you're conveniently never at it unless someone we know needs medical treatment. It's weird how that happens..."

"I work in mysterious ways."

"Work on reading," she shot back.

"Maybe I'll read up on spells some more. Why can't I just _think _of what I want and have it happen? Why do I need a spell? I still don't understand why I need spells for some things, but not others."

"Spells are much more complicated processes. They're different than simply thinking that you want to light a candle or move an object."

"But some things that you can do without a spell are very complicated," he said, his frustration evident. "And some spells produce simple results that shouldn't require a spell."

"I know," she shrugged, "it's just the easiest way I can explain it. It's not a definite rule – but outside of mathematics and science, there are very few definite rules. You know that as a doctor. At times, it's the unconventional treatment that will save a person's life. I've told you before, my mother and Wendy could explain this to you much better."

His reaction had been the same every time, to her continued disappointment. "Yeah, no thanks."

"I know you want nothing to do with them, but I know they'd help if I asked them."

"Sure about that?" Dash tried hard not to sound too skeptical, but it took work, because 'wanting to help him' wasn't exactly the vibe he got around Joanna and Wendy. They always seemed to be up to something. About the only Beauchamp woman that didn't cause him constant unease was Ingrid (though there were times when she managed).

"I am sure," she said, determined. "I'll prove it one day."

He tipped his head, assessing her. "One day? That's quite the nebulous, far-off timeframe, Ingrid. How long, exactly, do you plan on keeping me around?"

His words warmed her. "As long as you're useful," she quipped, holding up her healing hand for emphasis.

"Does it look any better?" It had been a few weeks since her injury, and he'd been checking up on it every time he saw her.

Ingrid looked at her right hand. The stitches had been removed, but there were still angry red marks along the center of her palm. Her mother had gasped upon seeing them and insisted on removing them, but Ingrid had wrenched her hand away. She hadn't been able to give her mother a good explanation as to why.

She held her hand out to him and he examined her critically. He ran a hand over her palm and she suppressed a shiver. "They're healing like they're supposed to." His look contained his unspoken question about why she let them remain.

She didn't have a single answer for him; it was more like she had several that kept running through her mind. She absently ran the fingers of her left hand over the marks on her palm. "I want to keep it as a reminder of what mistakes cost."

"It was an accident, Ingrid. You shouldn't be scarred for life because of an accident."

"Scars don't have to be bad," she chided him. "We learn from them."

"What's this lesson? Always drink out of Solo cups?"

She had to laugh. "I doubt the bar will go for that. More like…I should keep you around for a while."

He caught the reference to his earlier question, and put both of his hands around her injured one. He wished he'd been able to prevent a permanent mark from scarring her, but it had simply been too deep. She was giving him far more credit than he deserved. "I was doing my job, Ingrid."

"And rather exceptionally, at that," she said, pulling his hands up and kissing the top one. "You think magic is amazing? Well, I think what you do is amazing."

He inhaled deeply, taking in her words of thanks and pride in his abilities. He'd had plenty of patients thank him over the years, some in unconventional ways. They sent him money, gifts, and he'd been attacked with an unknown number of spontaneous hugs during his career. He'd gotten three proposals (one from a former patient who broke into his house, which hadn't made him that inclined to accept).

But standing here with Ingrid? A few words from her and it felt better than most of the other ways he'd been thanked over the years. Add it to the list of things he didn't understand (and if he went by the items he was putting on that list, lately, he was beginning to think he may as well title it 'Ingrid Beauchamp'). He couldn't tell her any of that, mostly because he didn't know how. "Thank you," he settled for saying.

She shot him a brief smile and gathered her books, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll come back later, but promise me you won't try out anything crazy while I'm not here."

"I'll be fine, Ingrid." There was that amusement again. Did he think it was funny that she cared? Or was it simply the idea of hurting himself that he found so unrealistic that it was humorous?

"I mean it," she said, her heart clenching. "Promise me, for your brother, too. If you or Killian attempts a spell you're not prepared for and it goes wrong, I don't know what I'd –"

He saw her worry and wanted to make it disappear. "I promise, Ingrid." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "No unauthorized or insane spells without your supervision." He waited for her to breathe out a sigh of relief before adding, "Killian did find a body swap spell that seemed easy, we'll probably practice that one while –"

"You think you're funny. God help you if I come back here and find you and Killian have switched bodies, I will leave you that way out of spite." She could practically see him thinking. "And don't try to _pretend_ you did it either, ugh, I can already see how my evening's going to go."

"You know you love it," he said, as he followed her down to the kitchen. He checked the fridge, and sighed with disappointment. "Hey, bring back dinner."

"Bring back – you know what, I'm not your personal servant. I teach, you reward me with dinner, we have a good thing going." Truthfully, she had no problem springing for dinner, especially when he was usually the one cooking or ordering take-out. His fatal mistake today was simply that she was in more of a mood to harass him than anything else.

"I'll make you a nice dinner of air, then. It's refreshing and calorie-free." He threw open the fridge to show her a variety of condiments and not much else. "Killian was supposed to go food shopping – surprise, it never happened. He's busy lately doing…I don't know what he does all day, actually."

"I assume he spends time with his wife."

Dash nodded slowly. "A reasonable assumption." He went to inspect the pantry, looking for anything edible from which to make a decent meal.

"So, dinner?"

He emerged with a package of saltines and then nodded toward the sink.

"Joke's on you, I love saltines." She bit her lip as he glared at her. "And water's my favorite beverage."

"Get out of here," he ordered. "Before you get fired and I'm responsible for your well-being."

She waved her arm and a book went flying at his head, which he managed to catch at the last second. "Get started reading that," she said cheerfully.

She heard him mumbling some grievance under his breath as she walked out. She had fun putting him in his place, but she had even more fun helping him.

She wouldn't think too hard about what that meant.

**XXXXXX**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you for the feedback! **

**To answer a question, at this point, I don't know how I'd incorporate the current show events into this story - I'll let them unfold on the show and decide later, because me trying to write about a mandragora would = epic failure. I'm more likely to write about the aftermath of that story line.**

**XXXXXX**

"You don't really need to learn magic so much as you need to learn to open yourself up to it," Ingrid explained over dinner. Dash had shown up wanting to cook for her, and it had become a frequent enough occurrence that it no longer surprised her. Tonight's meal was ostensibly an apology for the other night when she'd called his bluff and returned to his place to find he really did intend to serve her saltines if she didn't go shopping.

(Their unwillingness to admit defeat meant neither would cave and suggest ordering take-out. Dash still refused to believe her when she claimed that eating crackers and laughing with him in his kitchen had been one of her best meals in recent memory. It had ended with _The Great Saltine Fight of '14_ that Killian interrupted, calling them children, which naturally meant they had turned on him. He'd gone down in a hail of flying crackers while yelling this exactly proved his point.)

"Opening yourself up is easier said than done," Dash interrupted her musings. "A few months ago, magic didn't exist. Not to me."

"I've been through exactly what you have," she said, sipping her wine. "It took me some time to get through it. I said and did things I regret, mainly to people trying to help me."

"I find that hard to believe. You're pretty much the nicest person I know."

She wasn't blind to her own faults. "Then you don't know me that well."

She expected him to laugh, not regard her seriously as he said, "I think I know you well enough to stand by my opinion."

She waited a heartbeat too long before replying. "I like to think I deal with things better now, but I'm not perfect."

"You're also hard on yourself, has anyone ever told you that?"

She smiled at his earnestness. "I am who I am, Dash. It can't be helped."

"Well," he hesitated, before lifting his own glass in a toast. "I like who you are."

She wanted to make a lighthearted joke, to brush the moment off. She opened her mouth to try, and found she couldn't do it. She slowly picked up her glass and clinked it with his. "I like who you are, too."

Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if she didn't like him _too _much. She'd had close friends before, and she'd been in love before – at least she thought she had – but spending time with Dash was in an area she couldn't define. On one level, she was fulfilling her promise to help him, and she genuinely thought he deserved to know about magic. Everyone who had powers should have someone to guide them. On another level, she simply enjoyed seeing him, spending time with him. It was fun and new, scary at times and exhilarating at others, and not all of that had to do with the spells they cast.

It was disconcerting that he had a past with Freya – it meant that even entertaining the _idea_ of viewing Dash as more than a friend felt like a deep betrayal of her sister. She could completely understand how her sister had fallen in love with him; she simply couldn't understand how she'd fallen out of it.

Not that she loved him or anything. Maybe as a friend, but nothing more than that. Ever.

A knock came from her front door. She glanced curiously at Dash as she stood up. "I'm not expecting anyone."

Dash followed her to the door, equally suspicious about who would be showing up at this time of night unannounced. "There _is_ a murderer on the loose," he reminded her, edging past her. Not that she needed his protection, he thought wryly. She was probably more likely to save him than the other way around.

Ingrid allowed his show of chivalry because it amused her and was sweetly touching.

"Didn't you see on the news?" She asked, as he reached for the doorknob. "I heard the serial killer knocks politely on the door and then when you open it –" she waited for him to pull the door open – "he gets you!" She jumped toward him, causing him to fall back into the door as Freya gaped at them.

"Ingrid!" He groaned, rubbing his shoulder, as Freya looked back and forth between them with confusion and growing awareness.

Ingrid stopped laughing once she caught sight of her sister in the doorway. "Freya? Is everything okay?"

"Hey," Freya ignored Ingrid's question, narrowing her eyes at them. "Dash, what are you doing here? At Ingrid's place? At 9 on a Saturday night? Am I interrupting something?"

Recently they'd become civil to each other, but the coldness remained. Dash still hadn't forgiven Freya for her betrayal, and Ingrid sometimes wondered if he ever would. "Freya," he said finally, pointedly not answering any of her questions and going back inside.

Freya brushed by her sister to follow him. "No, please, come in," Ingrid said dryly to her back as she shut the door.

Freya came to a dead stop when she saw that she had interrupted dinner. Her eyes lingered on the table. "What's going on here? Is this a romantic dinner? Are you two seeing each other?"

Ingrid's irritation grew. "Let me check," she said, enjoying the way Freya's face got angrier. "I see him right now. Dash, can you see me?"

Dash had picked up his glass of wine and he tipped it at her in acknowledgement. "I see you. Quite clearly."

Freya heard a gravity in his voice that completely passed Ingrid by.

"Then I guess we're seeing each other! Sorry, Freya."

"Is this a joke to you?" Freya found nothing funny about her sister's deliberate twisting of her words

Ingrid shrugged. "If you're going to be ridiculous, why shouldn't I be the same? You're being incredibly rude, by the way. Why did you come over – without calling, I might add?"

Freya shook her head, her mind spinning at this turn of events. "I tried, you didn't pick up. I thought I'd stop by."

"My phone was on silent. I was _busy_." She might have let an insinuating tone enter her voice, but only because she was angry at Freya. She could practically feel Dash's gaze on her, and refused to look his way.

Freya noticed, too, and wondered what the hell was going on. Were they lying to her? Had they been hiding a relationship the entire time she thought Ingrid was helping him out of kindness? "I can see you were busy," she bit out, holding up two movies. "I was hoping we could have a girls' night, like we used to? Clearly that was a mistake." She glared at Dash, but he stared her down.

Ingrid deflated a little. Her sister wanted to spend time with her. She couldn't be angry about that. "Another time?"

"Sure, next time I'll definitely check with you to make sure my ex isn't here doing –" she waved her arm around in a show of distaste – "God knows what with my sister."

Ingrid counted to ten to stop from saying anything she'd truly regret. It wasn't fair the way Freya could make her relationship with Dash sound like such a wrong and terrible thing. Especially after what Freya had done to him.

Dash must have agreed, because he leveled a look at Freya. "What I do with anyone is none of your business. You made that clear when you left me _for my brother_. And correct me if I'm wrong, but since when do you have a say in what your sister does with her personal life?"

"You're absolutely right," Freya said coolly. "You're both adults. You can see whomever you choose, I have no say in it. But when I see my ex using my sister to get back at me, that's when I have the right to say something." She froze, almost as if she hadn't meant to say it and didn't know how to go back.

Ingrid had been holding her temper until that point, but now she took real offense. She didn't know how she managed to keep her voice calm. "Let me get this straight: Dash's entire life now revolves around you. Everything he does is to get revenge on you. He's only here, having dinner with me, to hurt _you_."

Freya wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat.

Dash thought about defending himself and decided against it. If he stepped in, he had a feeling things would get worse. Besides, Ingrid obviously knew the accusation was ridiculous.

What he didn't know was that Freya's words struck something deep in Ingrid – a place she didn't often talk about or let anyone else see. They might not have hit so hard if they weren't thoughts she'd wondered herself, from time to time. She was good at brushing them off as stupid and unfounded, but what if Freya had a point?

Ingrid checked Dash's reaction. He was leaning against the wall and his face gave nothing away. Maybe he wanted to stay out of it…or maybe he was trying to come up with a strategy to explain himself. What if he was _happy_ that Freya finally understood his intentions? Maybe he wasn't saying anything because he _had _no defense.

The thought cut unexpectedly deep, and she lashed out at her sister. "See yourself out, Freya."

Freya shifted her weight from one foot to the other, painfully aware of how much she'd unintentionally hurt her sister. "Ingrid, I didn't –"

Ingrid ignored her, walking off down the hall. Both Dash and Freya winced as she slammed her bedroom door.

"That was nice," Dash said, pushing himself off the wall. After seeing how upset Ingrid was, he rethought the wisdom of staying silent. Frankly, he was disheartened that a woman he had thought he loved enough to marry would believe him capable of such a thing. "Do you really think I would do that to Ingrid?"

Freya thought about what she knew of him, and reconsidered. Her shoulders slumped. "No, I don't. I'm sorry. It jarred me to see you two here, together."

"It's not me you have to apologize to." His ire increased with each word. "I don't care what you think of me, but you basically told Ingrid the only reason someone would be friends with her is to hurt you."

Freya pondered his anger. He was fine when she maligned him, but when it came to hurting Ingrid, he was upset? "I spoke without thinking. I'm a bitch sometimes. Ingrid knows this, we're sisters. And," she couldn't help adding, somewhat petulantly, "she can be exactly the same as me."

Dash shook his head in a silent 'no' and Freya recognized that insulting Ingrid (however much of a point she had) was not going to win her over with Dash. She bristled at the notion she should have to win him over at all.

For the past few months she'd been drowning in guilt over what she did to him. She also knew he and Ingrid were friends, but to see him when that door had opened – it felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her knee-jerk reaction had been to attack. She thought it would make her feel better, and now she felt a hundred times worse. Her sister was pissed at her and Dash was just _Dash _(and that _was the problem_, that he was who he was and they shared the past that they did). What was she supposed to do now?

Dash could see the silent struggle Freya was going through and felt pity for her. "I care about Ingrid and I consider her a friend. And not that it's any of your business, but that's all we are. _Friends_."

She felt irrationally relieved. "I know, and I overreacted. I was actually happy when she told me you were spending time together. I encouraged her to help you because I knew you'd want nothing to do with me."

Dash was a little annoyed at how she seemed to be taking credit for everything Ingrid had done of her own volition. Freya should know how wonderful her sister had been. "I don't know if I could have gotten through everything without her. Ingrid has been a phenomenal help to me. If you knew even half of the things she's done for me and for Killian…the things she's taught us, always patiently. The mistakes she's fixed for us, always without judgment, without blame, even when we deserved it. And believe me, Freya, we _deserved _it." At that moment, he wished Ingrid could hear him, too. "Without her, I'd be…lost. I can't explain it better than that."

It was like a neon flashing sign suddenly lit up in Freya's mind. Her accusation about him using Ingrid seemed childish and mean-spirited now. She wondered if Ingrid had any idea how he felt. "I'm glad she's helped you," she told him, and it surprised her to realize she truly meant it. "I don't think she'll want to talk to me for a while. Ingrid's always best if we let her cool down. Would you tell her that I'm sorry and I'll call her later?"

Dash thought about refusing, making Freya fix this completely on her own, but in the end he couldn't do that. "I'll tell her for _her_ sake, not yours."

"Ingrid was always right about you." She didn't elaborate and left the two movies on the coffee table as another silent apology to her sister before leaving.

He made a mental note to ask Ingrid later what exactly she'd been telling Freya about him.

He knocked on her bedroom door. "Freya left. She said you'd need time to cool off. Do you want me to go?"

Ingrid had the door open before he finished his sentence. "Are you not having a good time?"

"I love it when my ex-fiancée – and your sister – shows up to accuse us of…I'm not sure what, exactly. Liking each other?" He spread his arms out in question. "As if that's a bad thing!"

Ingrid noticed that he'd sidestepped Freya's real accusation, and didn't know if it was on purpose or not. "Too bad she doesn't know that I actually can't stand you."

"Ha!" He exclaimed, pointing at her. "Liar, you told me earlier that you like me."

It took her a few seconds to recall and she grimaced. "That was the wine."

He was shaking his head. "Nope, I know what you're like drunk. Nice try, you're not backing out of it."

"Fine! You're…tolerable."

"Careful, I might get too flattered by your high words of praise."

Why did he always have to make her smile against her will? "I'm sorry about storming off to my room." She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "I might be dramatic at times."

"You _might _be dramatic? The last time you came over you tripped on a loose floorboard and then swore that my house was trying to curse you."

"That's different – your house is evil. How many times have I tripped or fallen while under your roof? It's statistically unlikely that someone as lithe and graceful as I am would fall as much as I do in your house." She spun in a pirouette to prove it. "See?"

"I have to admit I'm impressed. You can spin in a circle."

She should have known he wouldn't appreciate it. "I'll have you know that takes work. I practiced in front of my mirror for hours."

"What, today, or…?"

"As a kid," she chided. "You know how you do things when you're young and then forget? And then one day…you remember." She tried it again – which must have tempted fate too much, since she slid on the floor and bumped into the wall. Then she kicked it out of spite. She didn't bother turning to look at Dash since she could picture his expression. "You may as well just say it!"

"I was only thinking that you missed your calling." He paused. "As an actress playing a terrible ballet dancer."

"The floor is slippery. And I had a glass of wine."

"And gravity exists. And they built that wall too close to you. And –"

"You're destroying my six-year-old self's dreams." She scolded him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a semi-hug. "Everything worked out. Think about it – if you had become an acclaimed ballerina, you wouldn't be here with me."

She pushed him away. "You're making me seriously reconsider my life choices. What if I made a mistake?" She'd meant her words in a lighthearted way, but they abruptly reminded her of her own insecurities.

"Too late now," he informed her. His words took on an ominous meaning in light of her thoughts.

She tried to shake it off and followed him back down the hall. She surveyed what was left of their dinner, glad they had mostly finished before Freya stopped by, since she'd lost her appetite. "Dash, I'm sorry about Freya."

He didn't know why Ingrid would apologize to him when Freya had insulted her, too. "She had no right to come here and lash out the way she did."

"She's my sister." Ingrid spoke with the weight of someone prepared to take the blame for their family member's actions.

"You're not responsible for her," he said, a bit too harshly. "We talked after you left. She's going to call later." He debated not continuing, but he'd promised. More than that, Ingrid deserved to know Freya regretted her words. "She's sorry and she didn't mean to come off the way she did."

"You're defending her?" Ingrid turned away and started methodically stacking dishes. Dash knew her tone sounded strange, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

"No, I'm saying that I understand where she's coming from." He meant, of course, that he'd come to the realization that both he and Freya were looking out for Ingrid. He assumed that was something Ingrid knew, as well.

Ingrid wondered what they'd talked about after she left the room. It must have gone well if he could excuse what Freya had said. She suddenly didn't feel that great.

Dash followed her to the sink and placed some dishes in it. It surprised him how uncharacteristically quiet she was being, and he felt that prickling worry start to grow. He knew she was still bothered by Freya's unannounced visit. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she said quickly. "I mean, it's been a long day and I'm going to go to bed. You probably want to get home, too."

Not particularly, no. He didn't tell her that, or any of another dozen things he wanted to say. He settled for, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she pushed some hair out of her face and gave him a half-smile. "I'm tired, though."

Dash didn't like it, but he nodded as he gathered his coat and keys. "I'll see you later, then."

"Sure. Thanks for dinner." She saw him out, and once the door was shut behind him she leaned against it. That had to be the worst ending to a wonderful day that she'd had in quite some time. What the hell had happened?

She had been close to asking Dash about Freya's accusations, but at the last second, she couldn't do it. When she'd been alone in her room before Freya left, she'd thought of a few scenarios. What if he did want to hurt Freya? He'd been quick to become friends with her after his wedding was called off. Sure, part of that was his fear and confusion about what was happening to him, but wouldn't most people have wanted distance from the family of the person who left them?

It also wasn't inconceivable to imagine their friendship had begun under ulterior motives, and he'd changed his mind. Maybe getting to know her had made him reconsider his plans. Maybe he liked her too much as a friend to go through with hurting Freya, and her by extension. In that scenario, their friendship was real, but it had started under pretty terrible circumstances. To think every experience they'd shared could be tainted by his initial motivation of getting revenge…it made her almost physically ill.

Perhaps even worse…she felt she could forgive him for it. If he'd started this with dishonest intentions and then thought better of it, she could get past that. It would still leave her furious, and a little bit heartbroken, but if the alternative was his disappearance from her life…she didn't know how to accept that.

All of that assumed he was guilty, though. What if he wasn't? It's not like she could ask him, because the second she brought it up, he'd wonder how she could find any truth to it. He'd feel betrayed that she could doubt him, and their friendship might end. Even if he was more forgiving than that, she didn't want to take the risk.

The facts were inevitable: no matter how she approached the subject, she would lose.

That left one option – never talk about it. Besides, wasn't she letting paranoia get the best of her? She was reasonably sure that Dash had never intended to use her, and on the slim chance he had, he'd obviously changed his mind. She didn't need to hear him say he was a good man. She already knew.

She thought briefly about the dangers of keeping things buried, dismissing the thoughts as quickly as they came.

She conveniently forgot that doubt, once planted, could take root without anyone noticing.

**XXXXXX**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I'm thinking maybe one more chapter after this. For the curious, the books in this chapter exist, and there really are codes of ethics for librarians, though they can choose to follow them or not. Ingrid strikes me as the type that would adhere to them. **

**We are definitely AU from the show at this point - no direct spoilers after 2x04.**

**XXXXXX**

"Stop avoiding us." Freya was about one second away from stomping her foot and only thought better of it because she liked to think of herself as an adult.

Ingrid could tell Freya was close to having a tantrum. "How can I be avoiding you if I'm at work? You know where I spend my days; it's not a secret."

"You're avoiding my calls," Freya clarified. It had been almost a week since she stopped by Ingrid's and interrupted her dinner – or whatever – with Dash. Ingrid had successfully ignored her since then.

"You could have stopped by uninvited," Ingrid said sweetly. "It worked so well the last time."

Freya reminded herself that Ingrid was still upset and had a right to be. "I told you, I'm sorry about the other night."

"I got your voicemails and texts. I've been busy, that's all."

Freya's phone rang and she glanced at it. "That's Frederick. We are not done."

Ingrid watched as her sister started arguing with Frederick. Couldn't anyone have a civil conversation anymore? The thought abruptly reminded her that she was no better, because she'd already forgiven Freya and hadn't told her yet. She wasn't quite sure why. She knew a small part of her wanted to make Freya suffer a little for how she'd behaved the other night. More than that, avoidance was easier. Once Freya knew she was forgiven, she'd inevitably want to talk about Dash, and that was a place Ingrid wasn't ready to go – certainly not with Freya.

Besides, was it really terrible of her to ignore a few calls? It's not like it made her feel better. She just felt guilty. And somewhat like a hypocrite.

She did talk to Dash a few times and had to keep insisting she was fine, because he could tell she wasn't. She'd put him off by continuously claiming to be busy. It was easier to brush him off than to actually think about how to resolve her issues. And they were _her _issues, she was under no delusions about that.

Ingrid drummed her fingers on an open book and vowed to tell Freya she was forgiven, come up with a plan to talk to Dash, and hopefully move on.

Freya swept back over like she owned the place; Ingrid had always envied that ability. "Don't let me interrupt." Freya's tone implied she couldn't possibly be doing so.

She rethought her vow to quickly forgive Freya. Let her work for it a little more. "I've done a lot today," Ingrid defended herself. "I dusted the shelves in the back room before you got here." She didn't mention it was three hours ago, and picked up a book from a nearby table to prove to Freya she had important things to do. She did a double take upon reading the title. _Becoming Evil: How Ordinary People Commit Genocide and Mass Killing. _She surreptitiously looked around, but no one was nearby. Reassuring.

Freya glanced at the title. "Sounds informative."

Ingrid stood up straighter. "The pursuit of knowledge should never be impeded because we don't like the subject."

Freya rolled her eyes. "Is that some kind of librarian's code?"

"Actually yes," Ingrid brightened at someone showing interest in her profession. "I was paraphrasing, though. Do you want me to send you a link?"

"I don't actually care," Freya assured her. "And don't worry, I'm sure their interest in the subject of mass murder is purely academic. Do you know who was looking at this?"

Ingrid shot her a look of disapproval. "Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

Freya thought that made sense considering all the things Ingrid wasn't telling her lately. She tried another tactic. "Dash is worried about you."

Ingrid knew that, though she hadn't expected him to go to Freya about it. "I thought you two weren't on speaking terms."

"We weren't, at least not before. Suddenly he's much more willing to get in touch with me when it's to ask about you. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

Ingrid needlessly shuffled some books around before picking up a stack of them. "There's nothing to be worried about."

"He said you're acting strange and distant. You don't want to see him. I guess that's…unusual?" She spoke the last word with genuine confusion; until Dash had mentioned it, she'd had no idea their relationship had become that familiar. "He thinks you're mad at him, and since you won't tell him why, he asked if I would talk to you."

"I'm not mad!" Ingrid slammed down the books she'd just picked up. Her outburst gathered the attention of the only other person nearby, an elderly woman reading near the window who shot her a dirty look, as if she'd violated a sacred rule of the library. The woman made a show of getting up and walking off to another section. "I'm not mad," Ingrid repeated in a much more controlled manner.

"That's it, we're having it out right now."

"Here? In public?"

Freya looked around the empty room. "It doesn't count as 'public' if no one's here." She took her sister's hand and pulled her to sit at a nearby table. "I'm sorry. I said things I shouldn't have. I thought maybe you were together and had been hiding it from me. That's not an excuse for what I did, just an explanation for the way I reacted. I know I was wrong, and I don't have a problem with you and Dash spending time together. I've apologized to him, too."

"Honestly," Ingrid admitted wearily, "I'd forgiven you already. I know how it appeared, and I don't blame you for getting upset."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?"

Ingrid certainly wasn't going to tell her the whole truth. She'd settle for a small part of it. "I'm not sure. Mostly I wanted to distance myself from the whole situation and forget about…"

Freya latched onto her sister's unwillingness to continue, because that had to mean they were close to the real problem. "Forget about what?"

"What you said about Dash using me. It got me thinking and I guess I let that doubt affect me more than I thought. I've been avoiding him because I don't want to talk to him about it."

Freya waved her phone at Ingrid. "Talk to him now."

"What am I supposed to say?" Ingrid demanded. "That I seriously considered that you might be right? What kind of friend am I?"

Freya could understand Ingrid's unwillingness to discuss it, but she was being too hard on herself. "Wondering about other people's motivations is normal. It'd be strange if no one did it, and we'd be setting ourselves up for failure if we blindly trusted everyone." She sighed, hardly believing she was about to do this, but she had a conscience. "The way he talks about you, Ingrid. The way he looks at you. Tell me you've seen it."

"No, you're wrong." Ingrid knew what her sister was implying and she couldn't really process it, especially not coming from Freya.

Thankfully, Freya stuck to the topic at hand. "There's no way he'd ever use you. You have to know that."

"I do. It made me think about a lot of things, that's all. And now I don't know how to talk to him."

"Open your mouth. Speak words." Freya was already planning on calling Dash before she even left the parking lot.

"Real helpful, thanks. It'll be fine, I'll come up with a strategy."

"Good luck with that." Freya marveled at her sister's ability to overthink everything. "It's settled, then. And in the future, no matter our disagreements, I expect you to _talk to me_. I promise I'll do the same."

"That sounds fair," Ingrid agreed. "I'm sorry, too. For everything."

Freya hugged her and left. Ingrid was relieved to have that conversation over with. That only left Dash. She had to admit that avoiding him wasn't a feasible long-term solution. She missed him too much.

Which was why when he came by a few hours after Freya, she wasn't nearly as upset as she should have been at her sister.

"She called you!" Ingrid exclaimed before he could say a word. "She _told _you."

"I know nothing of which you speak," Dash declared, ignoring her obvious annoyance.

"Sure you don't. Look, I'm busy." The excuse didn't sound any more believable than when she'd tried it on Freya. She moved a few items around on the desk.

The library always seemed creepy to him, and that was saying something when he remembered where he lived. He glanced around the nearly deserted first floor. A teenager was skimming a textbook at one of the tables and an older man was using a computer. "Barring the fact that this is the most activity I've seen here in months, I think you can spare a few minutes."

She started to panic – what was she supposed to say? She turned to her computer and started typing at a deliberately slow pace.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said loudly. God he could be annoying. "Isn't it your job to help me?"

"Yes, with _books_."

"Alright." He looked around and spied a stack of recently returned books that hadn't been put away yet. He grabbed the top one and held it out to her. "I want to check this out."

She took it and scanned the cover. "You want _Martha Stewart's Homekeeping Handbook_?"

"That can't be a real book," he laughed, leaning over the desk. "Oh wow, it is. I mean, yes, I want it. Check me out."

"No." She threw the book back onto the returned pile.

"Are you forbidding me from checking this out?" He escalated his voice with each word. "I have a _right _to make my home the way I see fit, and if I want to seek Martha's advice, I'll do it!"

The teenager was staring at them. "Tone it down a notch," Ingrid ordered. "If you want the book, take it!"

He retrieved it and started flipping through pages. "An entire section on pest control. Actually, this could be useful."

"Feel free to go read in any of our comfortable sitting areas. They all happen to be free right now."

"Are you trying to get rid of me? That's unethical, I'm a paying customer."

Ingrid leaned back in her chair. "You don't pay to take out books."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"Stop deliberately trying to confuse me. Fine, I'll make a donation to the library, then technically I'm a paying customer."

She stood, gathering a stack of books to put away. "Doesn't work that way, either."

He held out his hands in supplication, and his tone became serious. "What way does it work where you talk to me again?"

Her heart dropped and she gave in. "Fine, we can talk. _While_ I'm working. Books don't put themselves away." There weren't enough to bother sorting beforehand and the top book caught her eye. _The A to Z of Punishment and Torture_. She reminded herself to put a few uplifting novels near the front displays. This town could use it.

"Can't you use magic?" Dash asked as he followed her between the rows.

"That'd look great, books flying everywhere in the building. Besides, I'm not a cheater. Or lazy." She glanced at him disapprovingly. "It is _not _that difficult to put a book back where it belongs." She frowned as she surveyed the stacks and realized that chastising him had distracted her. How had she ended up in the Renaissance?

She checked the reference number again and then kept walking. She knew how to do this, despite how it looked. She rounded a corner and almost ran into Dash. "Weren't you behind me?"

"I was, then I stopped and waited – you're walking in circles."

"No, I'm not."

"You went around this stack three times. I followed you."

"No, that's not…" she glanced up at the shelves. The Renaissance! She pointed angrily at Dash. "I blame _you_ for this."

"If you want to give me the credit for that golden age, however misguided, I'm willing to take it."

He was seriously wreaking havoc on her equilibrium. "You put this away!" She shoved the book on torture at him and left him in the history section. Without him hovering, she had no problem with the rest of the books. The last one belonged in ornithology and she put it away with immense satisfaction.

She definitely got much more done without him around to distract –

"I'm a fan of the American goldfinch, myself." Dash spoke from directly behind her and she jumped out of reflex. "Sorry," he said, pulling her back against him, his arm resting against her collarbone, just underneath her chin. "I thought you knew I was here."

She brought her hands up to take hold of his arm. She didn't know why he steadied her in a way little else could. "I'm not psychic."

"I think you could be."

She inhaled deeply. It was easier to talk without looking directly at him. "So you know."

He rested his chin on top of her head. "I know."

She waited a minute before reluctantly turning around and looking up slightly to meet his eyes. _Be an adult, Ingrid_. Which was easier said than done, because although she _was _an adult, it was often hard to act like one. Why didn't anyone tell you that as you got older? She was nearing thirty and sometime she still felt like a scared little kid, wanting to run and hide to avoid her problems.

She reevaluated, in an instant, the way she'd handled the past week. She'd done herself no favors. "Let's talk about it," she said with newfound (and slightly ashamed) determination.

"Freya called me and explained," he admitted, as if she hadn't already known. "Ingrid, whatever is between us has nothing – _nothing _– to do with Freya. The thought of using you, or anyone else in your family, to hurt her has never occurred to me. I need you to believe that."

Ingrid knew he was telling the truth, that he only confirmed what she'd already known. "I believe you, and I'm sorry, Dash. Freya reminded me of doubts I've had at certain times in my life. She hit me where it hurts, I guess you could say."

"Siblings do that. Whether they mean to or not." He paused, and she wondered if he was thinking about Killian. "Why didn't you want to talk to me about it? If Freya hadn't told me…were you ever going to say anything? Or just avoid me forever?"

She would have had to talk to him because the alternative was unthinkable. He deserved an explanation. "I thought I'd lose either way. If it wasn't true, I sounded like a horrible person. And on the small chance that it was true – which I had pretty much decided it wasn't – well, you can imagine how terribly I thought that would go. Part of me couldn't let it go," she said helplessly. "I don't know why."

He pondered that, and a sickening thought came over him. "Have I ever given you a reason to think I might be using you?"

"No!" She exclaimed, and saw the hurt playing across his face. It was partly why she'd avoided talking to him in the first place. "It was _me_, Dash. My own issues. I knew that and I still let it get carried away because it was easier to avoid you than to talk about it. I was afraid of your reaction, and your friendship is too important to me to throw it away based on my own hang-ups. I mean, I was prepared to forgive you even if you _had _started spending time with me because you were planning to get back at Freya one day."

"_What_?" He appeared stricken.

Had she just said that? After everything was settled? What was _wrong_ with her? "No, I only meant that I understand the really powerful urge to get back at someone when you feel like they've torn your heart out. If you had started this –" she held out a hand to indicate the space between them – "intending to get back at Freya, and then you changed your mind because you thought better of it, or realized you were wrong…I could forgive you for that." She lowered her voice. "I know what losing Freya did to you."

He didn't want to talk about Freya. He wanted to talk about _her_. "If I had told you that I became friends with you because of some master plan to hurt Freya or your family, and I'd changed my mind, you would forgive me."

She replied without hesitation. "Yes. It would hurt, and I'd have to learn to trust you again, but I'd forgive you. I couldn't take the alternative."

"Of?"

"You being gone."

He didn't understand her willingness to forgive. It shouldn't have surprised him, because Ingrid had always been the better of the two of them. He hadn't realized how kind her nature truly was, and he knew he didn't deserve it, either. He suspected if he told her that, she'd argue that he _did _deserve it. "To know that you would be willing to forgive someone for that kind of betrayal amazes me."

"Who said 'someone'? I'm talking about _you_."

He lightly brushed his thumb along the side of her face. How did he respond to that? He shook off the feelings she brought out in him (more often than not, these days). "We're okay?"

"We're okay," she agreed, walking back with him to the front desk. "Hey, what did you mean earlier when you talked about 'whatever's between us'? What _exactly_ is between us?" She was curious, but kept the right amount of teasing in her tone to prevent the conversation from getting too serious (she excelled at that, and so did he).

He shrugged and aimed for nonchalance. "I don't know. You have a handsome, intelligent doctor who will apparently bow to your every whim. What do you think?"

"I'll agree with the doctor part," she allowed, trying not to smile.

"Very funny." He turned her so she was facing her computer. "You're fond of claiming you have a job to do, why not get to it? And later we're going to dinner."

"I don't take kindly to being ordered around."

"Don't be that way. I'll graciously let you pay as an apology for avoiding me this week."

"I have no problem with that," she said, reaching into her pocket and retrieving a credit card.

He recognized it immediately. "That's mine, how did you…?"

"Magic!"

"That's funny because I call it stealing."

She threw the card back at him. "I also call it a reminder not to cross me."

"By the way," he began casually, and she somehow knew this would be terrible, "Freya wanted me to warn you that your mother will be calling you after work. She's planning some kind of dinner party? Killian and I are both invited, because I can only presume she wants to ensure a nearly intolerable level of awkwardness."

"You're lying."

"Alas, no." He sounded far too amused. "It'll be fun."

"Dear God, Dash," she assessed him with horror. "You've gone your entire life not knowing what 'fun' means."

"You'll be fine," he soothed. "Everyone can get along for one evening."

She tried to picture it. What was her mother thinking inviting Dash and Killian over? How was Freya fine with that? And what about her family's own issues, as depending on the day and time, someone was always at odds with someone else? That dinner was going to be fraught with landmines. "Why do you have more faith in my family than I do?"

"I'm a natural optimist."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. You'd be better off staying home. Really, feign illness."

"No way am I missing this."

She was actually relieved. "You'll probably be the one thing that gets me through the evening," she admitted.

"Glad to be of service," he said as he left. "Remember, dinner, you're paying. I'll call you later."

She waved at him, although her mind was already on the future. A dinner party. Seriously.

It figured she'd fix one thing in her life only to find something entirely new to worry about.

**XXXXXX**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Final chapter! Still AU after 2x04, as I see the show is getting darker than this was ever intended to be. I'm glad other people enjoyed this story.**

**XXXXXX**

Ingrid paced back and forth in the living room, growing increasingly distraught with each pass. Freya couldn't understand why Ingrid was upset – as far as she was concerned, _she _should be the one freaking out.

"This is a terrible idea. Why didn't you tell our mother this was a _terrible idea._" Ingrid didn't worry about being overheard. Joanna and Wendy were in the next room, heatedly discussing salad ingredients (who knew anybody cared that much?).

Freya didn't have any response her sister would like. "I tried, okay? The most I could get out of her was that she wants everyone to get along better."

"That's insanity," Ingrid protested.

"Tell me about it." Freya critically examined herself in a mirror hanging on the wall. "Do you think I want to be at a dinner with my ex-fiancé and my…what do you call him? I'll go with 'the love of my life' for brevity's sake. Which is not to mention that he happens to be married to a woman he knew for three hours. Happily, Eva can't make it tonight."

"Smart woman. I should have said I couldn't make it." Ingrid turned her sister around and started pulling her hair into a French braid.

"I would have dragged you here. I refuse to suffer alone." She winced when her sister pulled slightly too hard. "I tend to think our mother feels she has to get in an allotted amount of torture for each of our lifetimes."

"She's succeeding."

Freya waited until Ingrid was done with her hair to reach up and take hold of her sister's hand. "I'm not angry you know."

"What? At our mother?"

"No, about…anything. You can tell me the truth about your life. You don't have to hide things from me."

Ingrid met her sister's eyes in the mirror. "I'm not hiding anything."

Knocking on the front door got their attention. Joanna must have been hovering nearby because she reached it right before Ingrid and welcomed Dash inside.

He graciously held out a bottle of wine. "Thank you for inviting me." Joanna and Ingrid read the label: 2000 Ducru-Beaucaillou. Ingrid mouthed 'suck-up' at him from behind her mother's shoulder.

Joanna smiled. "Thank you, Dash. That's very generous. Please, make yourself at home." She left with the bottle and Dash followed Ingrid into the living room.

"You brought a $200 bottle of wine," Ingrid said flatly.

"Did I?" Dash wandered the room, examining the furniture and artwork. "I found it in my wine cellar."

"Sure you did. Who are you trying to impress?"

"Maybe I want your mother to like me."

"By bringing her wine?"

"_Expensive_ wine, you said it yourself. Money impresses people." He looked at her archly. "I can tell you're impressed."

Ingrid pretended to ponder that. "You know, you may have a point? Why else would I have this sudden urge to move into your creepy haunted mansion, whiling away my days doing nothing as you go earn money to take care of me?"

He didn't miss a beat. "See? Told you it was true. Don't think you'll win me that easily, I have a list of criteria you'd have to meet."

She would have asked him to elaborate, but Wendy entered the room, sipping liberally from her glass of wine. "Look who it is! My almost nephew-in-law. How goes the magic learning? Are you corrupting my niece yet?"

Ingrid sighed. "Please don't start."

"Don't start what? I'm looking out for my one and only niece!"

"You have two nieces," Ingrid reminded her.

"That's what I said." Wendy threw her arm around Dash. "Let's hear it, how is she as a teacher?"

Dash took it in stride. "She's fantastic."

Before Wendy could twist that into some way that Dash was supposedly insulting her, Ingrid jumped in and beat Wendy to it. "Fantastic? That's all I get? One word?"

"It's a flattering word," he argued.

"Yes, it is," Wendy said suspiciously. "_Too_ flattering."

"How can it be too flattering?" Ingrid tried to keep her exasperation in check, but it was growing more difficult with her slightly inebriated aunt. Wendy certainly had the right idea about how to get through the evening, didn't she? Ingrid was envious.

Wendy shrugged. "Beware a man who loves you too much. Know what, just beware of men in general."

"What? I think you should slow down on the wine."

"No fun in that, Ingrid!" She finished her glass. "I'll be back."

As soon as Wendy left, Dash went to the kitchen to see if her mother needed help. Ingrid heard Killian and Freya in the next room and decided nothing was worth jumping in the middle of that, so she went to the dining room where Wendy had opened Dash's bottle of wine. She poured herself a glass.

"I have to say, your boyfriend has pretty good taste," Wendy admitted begrudgingly. "I guess he's not so bad if he brought alcohol. That doesn't mean I approve of him."

"He's not my boyfriend," Ingrid said. "And why don't you like him? Give me a real reason."

Wendy ran a finger around the rim of her wine glass. "I don't _not_ like him. I don't want you to get hurt. Are you sure you can trust him? It wasn't that long ago that he was going to marry your sister."

Ingrid shook her head. "I'm not doing this again." It was bad enough when she'd gone through it with Freya.

Wendy clearly wanted to argue with that, but Dash returned and Wendy excused herself to go say hello to Killian.

"Your mom doesn't need my help. She said I should keep you company." Dash wasn't oblivious to the chilly atmosphere he'd walked into between her and Wendy. "Is everything okay?"

Ingrid smiled at him, too brilliantly. "I'm fine. Just…family."

"I get it. I left Killian in the other room with Freya. It's pretty awkward in there, good luck to Wendy."

"I feel bad for them."

"They'll be fine," Dash said. "Eventually."

"Until my aunt starts grilling him on his marriage. Actually, that could be entertaining." Ingrid held up her glass and waved it at him. "This is wonderful, by the way. It's making the world slightly more tolerable."

"And what about your world is currently intolerable?" Dash asked, circling the table. It was already set for dinner.

"Let's list the reasons. My mother has put everyone in an incredibly uncomfortable situation. My sister is trying to act as if things are fine between you two while also pretending she doesn't care about Killian. My aunt and brother are…not your biggest fans."

"They hate me," he corrected.

Ingrid thought about how angry Frederick had been upon learning that their mother had invited Dash and Killian. Frederick had wasted no time informing Ingrid of his own suspicions that Dash was using her to get back at Freya. She'd tried to set him straight, but she knew she hadn't fully convinced him. "I don't get it. They can be so judgmental, and none of them are exactly innocent, or perfect, either."

"Don't worry about it."

She took another sip from her glass. "I can't help it."

"You don't _need_ anyone to look out for you," he said firmly, taking the glass from her hand. "But you have plenty of them. Even if you don't agree with them some of the time. And if a few of them are irrationally biased against me, it's only because they're trying to protect you."

"I don't need protecting," she said automatically. "You're right, though, I understand their motivations."

He swirled the wine in what had formerly been her glass and took a sip. "I do have excellent taste."

"Of course you do. You're friends with me, aren't you?" She couldn't help teasing.

They heard Joanna announcing that dinner was almost ready, which caused everyone to make their way to the dining room.

"Take a seat anywhere," Joanna said, setting a salad in the center of the table.

Dash noticed he'd inadvertently ended up next to Wendy. He moved a few seats down and saw Frederick on the other side of him. Great.

"This isn't musical chairs," Freya crossed her arms and stared at him.

"Like I'm going to sit next to your aunt for an entire meal!" Dash told her. "She probably has a dozen poisons ready to use on me."

Everyone looked at Wendy who laughed. "I don't use poisons, but the addition of certain extra ingredients to a meal can really bring out some traits." She sent Dash a piercing glare. "Like honesty."

"That's reassuring," he told her, relieved when Joanna motioned for her sister to sit at the end of the table and far away from him.

"Over here," Ingrid pointed at the seat next to her. He was about to sit when he felt Frederick's eyes on him.

"No offense man," Dash held up his hands, "you're kind of scaring me."

Freya grabbed her brother's arm and forcefully led him to a seat at the other end of the table.

"I feel like I'm back in elementary school," Ingrid said, as it took a few more seat changes before everyone was happy.

Thankfully, the meal started without incident. The conversation was superficially polite for a time as Joanna asked them about their jobs. It didn't last.

Freya broke the silent tension first. "Why is everyone here? Really?" She asked her mother.

Joanna sighed. "It's not some big secret, Freya. It's what I've been telling you. Our two families may have their differences, but we keep coming back to each other. I thought we could get to know each other better. It's my sincere hope that everyone can set aside whatever issues they have with certain other people and we can all become friends. Friends are important, are they not?" She glanced at Wendy, who looked particularly unimpressed. "Okay, wrong person to ask."

"I like friends," Killian chimed in, trying to be helpful.

Freya cleared her throat. "I think everyone here already gets along well enough."

"Oh yeah," Wendy scoffed. "We all love each other."

"I'm always up for more friends," Ingrid said, smiling at Dash when he nudged her elbow in silent support.

"I think some of us are too friendly already," Frederick said, sending both of them a glare, as if it would discourage them from talking or interacting in any way.

Joanna realized how difficult this might be. "I simply thought that with Dash and Killian learning about magic, it would be best for everyone if we got along. I thought a friendly dinner would be a good start toward both of our families accepting each other and realizing we're here for each other." She looked between the Gardiner brothers. "I understand it must have been quite a shock for you two to learn the truth about who you are, and I want you both to know that you can come to me or Wendy with any issues or questions you might have."

Wendy was vigorously shaking her head. "Don't volunteer me to be their…personal magic helper. Isn't that Ingrid's job?"

"It's not my job," Ingrid told her, annoyed.

"Whatever you call it," Wendy brushed her off. "You continue to do it and I will continue to not be involved. Sound good?"

Joanna wished her sister could set aside her differences for one night. Just one. "Please be nice Wendy. At least fake it!"

"Nice like Ingrid is being 'nice'?" Wendy put air quotes around the words.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ingrid demanded.

"Come on, it's not a secret. I think it's pretty obvious why you're as friendly as you are with the Gardiner brothers."

"If it's that obvious, then explain." Ingrid knew it was a mistake the second she said it.

"You and Dash have some kind of friendship –"

"Unnatural," Frederick cut in. "It's un–" he winced and stopped talking when Freya kicked him under the table.

Wendy wasn't deterred. "I know you've become close. Have you thought it through?"

"Thought _what _through?" Ingrid wasn't following.

"Oh come on, Ingrid, you guys can stop bothering to try and hide it," Freya finally said. "It's obvious to everyone here that you're in love with each other. I get that you wanted to spare my feelings, but I was being truthful when I told you that I'm fine."

Their mother was nodding along as if Freya hadn't started speaking another language. "And it is _not _going to cause problems, anyone who cares can get over it." She directed this at both Wendy and Frederick who appeared less than pleased.

Ingrid stared at them, somewhat in shock. Yes, she cared about Dash a lot, in fact, she purposely tried _not_ to think about him at times, and now Freya thought they were together? She looked around the table – wait, _everyone_ thought they were together?

She glanced over at Dash. He hadn't really reacted, though he looked as if he wanted to speak while simultaneously having no idea what to say.

"I don't know what's going on here, except that you're wrong." She felt the need to escape. "I think I'm going to get some fresh air. Outside. I'll be back. Maybe."

Everyone watched her leave with varying degrees of confusion. Dash could see his brother having a good laugh at his expense on the other side of the table. "I'm going to talk to her."

Once he left, Freya asked Killian what he found so amusing. "They're not together," Killian informed her, and apparently everyone else.

"Please." Wendy clearly didn't believe him.

"I'm telling you the truth. They aren't. At least, they _weren't_. I know because I've been suffering listening to my brother talk about this for weeks." He picked up his glass in a mock toast. "Don't worry, though, because I think everyone here just ensured it will happen."

"Great." Frederick threw his napkin down in disgust.

Joanna frowned. "I'm usually pretty accurate on these things. I guess I was too far ahead of them."

Wendy had a sudden thought. "That means if I go talk to Ingrid –"

"No," Freya interrupted. "Please don't."

"I don't want her to get hurt. Is that wrong?"

Freya put her hand over her aunt's in consolation. "It's not, but trying to manipulate her life because of your own worries is not the solution. You have to trust that she knows what she's doing."

"Does she?" Wendy asked.

"Does anyone?" Joanna meant it rhetorically. "I think she could do much worse than to love someone who loves her back."

"Fine, I'll leave Ingrid alone for now," Wendy relented. "We can always talk about your love life instead, Freya. Or Frederick, want to tell us about that nice girl you're seeing?"

Frederick got up. "I'm getting more wine," he announced.

"Bring back two bottles," Freya begged.

**XXXXXX**

Ingrid hadn't gone far, just out to the porch. She didn't turn on the lights because it would interfere with the view. She gazed up at the stars and appreciated the amazingly clear night.

She heard footsteps behind her, and knew who it was. She could always instinctively tell when he was nearby, and didn't know if it was luck or some elemental form of magic.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there."

"I know," he spoke from right behind her, close enough that she could feel his body heat. "You apologize for everything."

"I can't help it."

"I know that, too." He tugged at a strand of her hair and she turned around to face him. It was dark and the only illumination came from the soft glow of the first floor windows. "It's one of the reasons I like you."

She frowned. "Now you're trying to be charming."

"I don't have to _try_ to be charming," he smirked.

"Right," she rolled her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile. "It comes naturally."

"You're starting to get it."

Her next words were too serious, signaling a change in mood. "I'm starting to get a lot of things."

"Oh yeah? Would any of them have to do with what took place in your dining room?"

"Maybe. I hope they didn't make you uncomfortable."

He leaned against the wall in back of him. "It takes much more than that to make me uncomfortable."

She placed her hands on the railing behind her, subconsciously putting more space between them. She needed it to gather her thoughts. "I've noticed."

They should talk about it. She took a minute to breathe in the refreshing air. Crickets chirped in the distance and the mild wind blew her hair around slightly, just shy of being annoying. And Dash stood four feet from her, waiting as patiently as he ever did. For her.

"You're being very…silent."

"I'm thinking. Sor–" She caught herself. "I can't help it. I'm not good at this."

"Apologizing? I think you're pretty good at it."

"No, not that," she bit out, frustrated. She tugged on her dress, unnecessarily smoothing it down. "What I meant was I'm not great at relationships. Maybe life in general."

"Ingrid," there was laughter in his tone, "no one's good at that."

"Yeah," she scuffed at one of the boards under her feet with her shoe. "It seems everyone's at least better at it than me."

"Exactly, it _seems_ other people know what they're doing. With life, with relationships, you can say it about anything. But I guarantee you, Ingrid…they don't know. Everyone is trying and failing and second-guessing themselves and trying again and hoping against hope that this time might be it. This time might _work_."

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.

"I'll grant you that maybe other people appear more put together, or have a confidence that makes them look as if they know exactly what they're doing. If anyone truly thinks they have everything figured out, though, they're deluding themselves. There's no such thing as a sure thing, Ingrid. Not in this life. Even if they don't know it, or won't admit it, things can change in an instant. Think of it this way – to some extent, we're all wandering around in the dark."

She wanted to believe him, even if he was only trying to make her feel better. She wanted to be braver than she actually was. She let go of the railing and took a step toward him. "We're in the dark, huh?"

He nodded. "The sun _has_ gone down."

"You're hilarious."

"Wait, were you agreeing with me for once?" He asked.

"I don't know if I'd say I _agree_," she hedged. "When I'm with you, it doesn't feel very dark."

"Then I think it's the appropriate time for this." He reached into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. "Do you remember earlier this evening when you joked that I probably had a list of criteria that a woman had to meet before I agreed to date them?"

She nodded. "It was only an hour ago. I'm not senile."

"I took you up on it and wrote down my list."

"Why am I not surprised?"

She took the paper he held out, tilting it so she could read more easily by the light of the windows. She was prepared for a number of ridiculous items, maybe a list he'd written out as a joke, but there was only one thing written.

"This is my name."

"That's my criteria."

"You'll only date women named Ingrid Beauchamp. You know I'm sure there are a bunch of us."

"I'll look online for the others and date them, too. If you want."

"Dash…" she was excited and relieved and terrified. There weren't adequate enough words to describe how she felt, and she still worried if he'd really considered the implications of this.

"Ingrid, what have we been doing for several months now?"

She tried valiantly to ignore her emotions and focus on the question he asked. "We've spent time together, helped each other, taught each other…we've become friends."

Dash agreed with every point. "That's true. You left out the most important thing." He waited a few moments for a response that didn't come, and started to worry. "You know we fell in love, right?" He searched her face, lit up slightly by the orange glow from the window behind him. "Please, Ingrid, tell me you didn't miss it."

She knew. She'd known the entire time. There was a difference between knowing and acknowledging. "I didn't miss it. It's that…" she trailed off and fell silent.

"You're not making me feel relieved." In fact, her reaction was far from promising.

"It worries me, Dash. Even us becoming friends was unusual, so for it to be more than that – look at where we're coming from. I know I don't have to spell it out for you." There were any number of valid arguments against them, and she knew he was aware of them.

He couldn't remember a moment ever carrying so much weight. "I don't care, Ingrid. I don't care about your past or my past. I don't care how we met. I don't care what the people in there –" he pointed at the house behind them, "think about us. I don't care what people _anywhere _think about us."

"You're braver than I am."

"No," he insisted, "it has nothing to do with being brave. It's about what matters, what's important. Know what I do care about?"

She shook her head, and he stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of her face; he had to make sure she couldn't look away. "I care about what we mean to each other. I care about how we feel. I care about what we had in the past, and what we have now, and what we could have in the future. If you're on the same page as me." He wouldn't think about her saying no. "Since when do we let other people make our decisions for us?"

Ingrid placed her hands over his. He was right, of course. She believed every word he said, and she had to admit she'd been looking for excuses. Because truthfully? He scared her to death. How did you know if taking a chance was worth it? How did you know you wouldn't get hurt? She'd been hurt before and it almost killed her.

It would be easy to back away, to use any number of legitimate excuses to explain why _they _would be a bad idea. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't lie to him. He'd become one of her best friends, and at this point, she was already too far gone. She didn't think she could walk away from him if she tried.

"I feel the same as you. I guess you already knew that, and were waiting for me to realize it, too?" She also owed him the truth. "I want to apologize to you, Dash. Not for something silly or petty, but because I've been deliberately keeping you at bay. Because I was scared. You scare me. What we have – or could have – terrifies me."

He understood. That was it, wasn't it? Since the beginning, they'd understood each other. "I get it. Do you want to take a chance?"

She leaned closer to him. "I already did."

Neither of them initiated it – it was more like they met in the middle. Their first kiss started warm and sweet, and Ingrid was more focused on the feeling of his arms around her than the kiss itself. To be that close to the man she loved was surreal and terrifying, but in a good way. She wanted to be even closer, and maybe she was too aggressive, because she ended up pushing him backwards thinking the wall was right behind him. She misjudged the distance, though, and he ended up falling into the side of the house.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "That's definitely the wall. You're strong when you want to be."

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "Did I just assault you?"

"I certainly hope so," he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Don't apologize, I didn't mind."

"I really didn't mean to hurt you," she said, clearly worried she'd irreparably damaged him.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll return the favor," he offered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Pick whatever wall you want, just…maybe not the wall of your house while your family's inside?"

As if he'd summoned them, the backyard lights came on and Ingrid instinctively turned her head into his shoulder.

"Are you two still out here?" Joanna called, scanning the area and stopping abruptly once she spotted them a few feet away. "Oh no, um…my apologies. I'll go back inside now."

Wendy had come up behind her sister and, unfortunately, saw the same sight. She couldn't make them out clearly but she could see they were very close to each other. "Are you two hugging?" She pointed at Dash. "I might have told Freya I'd agree to a truce, but if you harm her in any way –"

"Wendy!" Joanna cut her off and tried to push her back into the house.

"What, I'm just telling it like it is," Wendy insisted, struggling out of her sister's hold. "Fine, I'll go tell Killian that he needs to divorce his wife. Sound better?"

"You look mentally unstable," Joanna informed her. "Do you want the neighbors to call the police?"

"You've not heard the last of me," Wendy called to Dash and Ingrid before Joanna succeeded in getting her to go back inside.

"Don't worry about it," Joanna tried to apologize. "She'll calm down eventually. A few years from now and –"

"A few _years_?" Ingrid couldn't handle the thought. She jumped when someone rapped on the glass of the window nearest to them. Her aunt was inside, gesturing through the window that she was watching them.

"I'm on it," Joanna said wearily. "You two go back to…never mind." Her mother disappeared. A minute later, they watched a brief struggle between Joanna and Wendy and then the curtains were back in place.

"I feel like I'm still being watched," Dash remarked.

"We probably are," Ingrid muttered. "I almost feel bad for your brother. Almost."

"I find it pretty amusing that he's probably in there right now, fighting with your aunt. Freya's probably joined in by now."

"Better them than us," Ingrid said, immeasurably cheered up by the thought. "You still liking this idea?"

"Still loving it," he corrected her. "And you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"I love you, too. And I hope you know that's proof you're crazy, if you're willing to get involved with this family again." The outside lights went off and they were once again immersed in darkness. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the sudden change. "I can't see anything."

"I hear absence of light can cause that."

"I will throw you into another wall so fast," she threatened, though she didn't actually mind his humor.

"What world do you live in where that would give me any incentive to stop?"

She kissed him, then, because…did she really need a reason? She loved him.

"Ingrid, you don't have to see something to know it's beautiful." It took her a few seconds to realize he was replying to her earlier complaint.

She was inclined to agree.

The darkness wasn't so bad (if you weren't alone).


End file.
